Summary: Upon wrapping up their latest case in New Orleans, (the one with the zombies and the blood magic and some wannabe voodoo queen), all Dean wanted to do was head back to the motel, jump in the shower and wash the stinking scent of burning flesh and blood off and out of every part of him. Was that really too much to ask?

A/N: I apologise in advance for any butchering of the voodoo religion as mentioned in this story. My information came from Wikipedia, Hollywood movie references and twitter, which as we all know are not the most reliable sources in the world!

- - -

D

ean blamed witches. It was always witches. It didn’t matter if they were the white magic sort with their spells and potions, or the black magic sort with their voodoo dolls and dark magic, they were all witches, and they were damn well skeevy ones at that! He hated them and he hated dealing with them. So upon wrapping up their latest case in New Orleans, the one with the zombies and the blood magic and some wannabe voodoo queen, all Dean wanted to do was head back to the motel, jump in the shower, and wash the stinking scent of burning flesh and blood off and out of every part of him.

Was that really too much to ask?

The case was finished. Complete. Finito. So why the hell did he find himself, hours later, standing under a stream of warm water with a bar of 99¢ soap in one hand, a loofah in the other, and the disturbing sight of there being absolutely nothing in the space between his legs when only seconds ago- seconds!- he’d been working on some serious de-stressing down in that area.

“What the fuck?” Dean yelled, jerking himself out of the spray so fast his legs almost slid right out beneath him. He managed to grab hold of the shower curtain for balance as he stumbled his way out of the cubicle, to stand in panting panic with his arms braced against the sink and his eyes squeezed shut, a litany of ‘oh dear god, no!’ hummed beneath his breath like a mantra as he tried to calm his erratic heartbeat.

It was fine. Everything was fine. It was just a hallucination. Or something. Maybe sleep deprivation. Anything. Anything but that. Taking a deep breath, Dean (his eyes still scrunched tightly closed) reached downwards, fingertips tip-toeing their way with trepidation down the quiver of his stomach before- aha!- grabbing hold of his prick.

“Oh thank god!” Dean breathed, opening his eyes with a sigh of relief as he ducked his head down. It was all just a- he froze. It wasn’t just a- he made a short, whimpery kind of noise somewhere in the back of his throat as he stared down at his hand, a hand which was gripping, for all intents and purposes, nothing. Nada. Zilch.

“Sammy!” He didn’t even pause to think as he hightailed his way out of the bathroom and straight into the bedroom he was sharing with Sam. Sam who had showered and dressed not ten minutes earlier without having to lose any of his manly bits. Sam who was currently tapping away on his laptop and munching on the food he’d fetched them for dinner, and all without having to lose any of his manly bits.

“Dude, gross, put some clothes on,” Sam only spared him a flickering glance, clearly not having taken in the GAPING HOLE where once his meat and two veg had hung.

Dean made a choking sound as he tried to find the words to tell his brother that, right now, a towel wasn’t going to be doing him any damn good.

“It’s gone!” Was about all he could manage to blurt out, his voice an octave or two higher than he’d perhaps have liked, but that was really the least of his worries. Sam looked up again, actually looked this time, and Dean saw the instant his brother realised just what the hell had him all a fluster. It was like someone had just punched out the space between his legs. Dean felt suddenly light headed and stumbled his way towards the nearest bed to sit.

“What did you do?” Sam asked after a long moment of silent gaping.

“Me? Me?!” Dean exclaimed, staring at him with panicked eyes, “My dick is missing and somehow I’m the one responsible?”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Dean grouched. He scrubbed a hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes before dropping his head into his hands. “I think it’s that damn voodoo chick,”

“The one we… dealt with?” Sam asked, slowly.

“Well who the hell else could it have been? She’s the only one we’ve been near with the hoodoo to do this kind of shit,” he looked up, his face twisted with misery. A look that quickly turned to surprise as Sam jerked back so violently in his chair that it- along with Sam himself- fell backwards and onto the floor.

“Dean! Your face!” Sam exclaimed, scrambling to his feet and staring at Dean with the kind of horror that instantly makes your insides turn cold. Dean’s hands shot up to his face, fingers pressing and prodding and-

“What?” he asked, not feeling anything wrong. It was as he dropped his hands however that he noticed it. The nothingness. They too were, well not quite not-there but almost. It was as if he’d dipped his hands into a bucket of paint, but instead of colour they were streaked with nothingness, with… invisibility. Dean lifted his left hand and looked at a smudged spot of nothingness on his palm, he then stared through that same smudged spot of nothingness and saw Sam staring straight back at him.

“Sammy… I-,” Dean dropped his hand and looked at his brother, his voice a mix of wonder and sudden excitement, “I think I’m turning invisible!”

- - -

After another shower (this one with more scrubbing and less rubbing) Dean found himself completely invisible. Not a speck or spot of fleshy-coloured skin to be seen anywhere. He grinned at the nothingness he saw reflected back at him in the mirror before stepping out of the bathroom.

“Whaddya think, Sammy?” He held his arms out and twirled, well aware that Sam wasn’t seeing a damn thing right now.

“I called, Cas.” Was all Sam said. Dean stopped twirling.

“And now I see why,” Castiel’s voice sounded from behind him and Dean twisted, grinning.

“Or rather, you don’t see, right?” He said, chuckling at his own pun.

“You could be less happy about this, Dean,” Sam said, huffing a little, “not ten minutes ago you were completely freaking out over the whole thing.”

“That was before I knew what was happening,” he said, waving aside the concern, “now it’s kind of cool, like having a superpower or something.” He turned back to Castiel who was squinting in his direction, as if trying to pinpoint him by sound alone.

“Alright there, Cas?” He asked.

“This is… vexing,” Castiel answered, his brow furrowed, “I can still sense that you are here but I cannot see you.”

“Well, yeah, that’s generally how invisibility works,” he quipped but Castiel just shook his head.

“No. You and I are connected, Dean. Even if I cannot see your body I should still be able to see you.”

“Huh,” Dean wasn’t quite sure how to answer that one, especially with Castiel looking so upset about it. He stepped in closer, watching as Castiel’s eyes flickered around still trying to pinpoint him.

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” he said, lowering his voice so that only Castiel would hear his words. Castiel twisted his head towards the sound of his voice, unconsciously bringing their faces closer.

Smiling somewhat wickedly, Dean leant in, his lips ghosting across Castiel’s cheek in an almost-kiss. Castiel startled at the touch, a hand moving up to touch at his face as he stared with wide eyes around the room.

Dean huffed a laugh and stepped away. “I think this could be all kinds of fun,” he said to break the silence as he made his way towards the table and lifted the bag of chips Sam had picked up for him. Sam jumped at the sight of the food suddenly floating up into the air.

“Dean!” Sam sounded somewhat strangled as he watched the chips being munched one by one, disappearing the instant they entered (what he assumed to be) Dean’s mouth.

“Relax, Sammy,” Dean soothed, “we’ll get me back. In the meantime, I’m just going to enjoy it while it lasts.”

The look Sam shared with Castiel made Dean grin all the wider. This was going to be so much fun.

- - -

All in all the invisibility lasted for just about a week. It was one of the most amusing weeks of his life, to be quite honest, and he was more than a little upset when he started re-appearing. Sam and Castiel on the other hand were more than a little relieved by the change in events, but seeing as Dean had been tormenting them both at every opportunity possible this wasn’t exactly surprising.

He’d spent the first day grumping around the motel room after Sam and Castiel both had petitioned against him and forced him back into wearing his clothes. Dean had protested long and loud about how pointless putting clothes on an invisible person was but had been overruled by Sammy’s rather prissy comments on how he’d rather not have to wonder where Dean had been sitting himself in all his naked and invisible glory. Dean had actually grinned rather wickedly at that one and his sudden silence on the matter had ended with Sam whipping out a bottle of hand-sanitizer and proceeding to coat every visible surface with the stuff. Beside him, Castiel had shaken his head and shot Dean (or Dean’s general direction) a very pointed look before returning to Sam’s laptop and the websites Sam had given him to research.

- - -

The second day he’d convinced Sam to let him out without his clothes on. This was more for Sam’s benefit than his own, of course, as one couldn’t really expect a pair of jeans and a t-shirt to go walking about without there appearing to be anyone wearing them.

Sam had suggested sunglasses and a hat to solve that problem.

Castiel had suggested he wear some make-up (the look Dean shot him for that one would have been amusing had he not been more than a little freaked out at the fact that an Angel of the Lord was suggesting he paint himself up like a girl).

Sam, the bastard, had all but giggled at that one before making like he was all for it.

To get his own back, Dean had stripped right then and there and sworn bloody murder that if either of them came near him with anything that resembled a cosmetic product, he’d rub his balls over everything in their motel room, (and the Impala too!), and there wouldn’t be enough hand sanitizer in the world to reach every spot.

- - -

Day three saw them back at the voodoo workshop they’d torched and burned the day the invisibility struck Dean. There, of course, wasn’t much to be found on site but whilst sifting through the debris the remains of some glass bottles were found with half-charred labels depicting what the contents within had once held.

After reading labels for things like ‘Impotence’, ‘Haemorrhoids’, and ‘Genital Itching’ Dean was beginning to rethink his stance on witches and his hating on them, because, all things considered, invisibility could really have been the least of his worries. Sam had amusedly asked him if there were any other conditions he’d like to confess to suffering.

In response to that question, Dean had simply picked up the half-smashed bottle for ‘Genital Itching’ and chased Sam round the room with it.

Thankfully there was only a little bit of powder left in the bottle and a quick trip to the local chemist soon sorted Sam right out.

- - -

Come the end of day four, Sam was in a bitch of a mood whilst Dean was feeling at the top of his game. After spending the entire day following new leads and visiting libraries and other local places into the whole voodoo thing in the hopes of finding a cure, they had come up with a grand total of nothing to show for their efforts.

It probably didn’t help that Dean spent most of their time pulling pranks on both Sam and the people he was trying to get his information from. It wasn’t his fault that his gentle smacking of the librarian’s ass ended up with Sam being bitch-slapped across the face, was it? Or that his wolf-whistling at a group of burly workmen they were passing by ended up with Sam being chased for five blocks whilst Dean was forced to stop after one because he simply couldn’t run and bust his guts laughing at the same time, was it?

He didn’t think he could be entirely blamed for pinching Castiel’s ass when they finally made it back to the motel to find the angel waiting on them, especially considering how delectable Castiel looked with some colour in his cheeks and his mouth open in a wordless gape as he tried to find the words to responds to Sam’s asking if he was alright.

Dean spent the rest of the evening sniggering to himself in one corner of the room whilst Sam and Castiel glared at him from the other side.

- - -

On the fifth day, Dean was banned from leaving the room. Sam had threatened to tie him up if he so much as thought about setting foot out of the door. Dean had asked his brother how he planned on implementing that rule if he wasn’t going to be around all day. Sam had said he’d get Castiel to babysit him if he had to. Dean had grinned, looked up at Castiel’s curious expression and asked the angel if he’d only get tied up if he was a bad boy. Castiel really did look good with colour in his cheeks. Sam, well with Sam, not so much. Dean was left chuckling to himself as both his brother and the angel disappeared from the room without another word.

He waited all of a quick shower and a repeated episode of Judge Judy before hightailing out of the motel room and into a whole world of freedom. When Sam and Castiel returned later that evening it was to find the motel room filled with all manner of pilfered items. Sam was furious, of course, whilst Dean was feeling pretty damn proud of himself for his nifty five-fingered discount purchases. He held out the pizza box he was currently munching from. Castiel took a proffered slice and spent a moment puzzling over it before taking a hesitant bite.

Sam on the other hand demanded to know how in the hell no one had noticed half a dozen pizza boxes and a six pack strolling down the street. Dean had smirked to himself and muttered an appropriately vague ‘I have my ways’ as he rocked back on his chair.

“You can wipe that smug look off your face this instant,” Sam snapped, fingers running through his hair in frustration.

“You can’t see my face!” Dean laughed, though his chair did thump back onto all fours as he stared suspiciously at his brother.

“I don’t need to see your face,” Sam sniped in Dean’s general direction, his hand not-so-discreetly reaching for a slice of pizza. “I just need to know you, and I know after pulling off a stunt like this you’ll be grinning like the damned Cheshire cat.”

“Touché, Sammy,” Dean chuckled, “enjoying my pizza?”

Sam had glared at him and informed him that he was being very immature about this whole situation and that it was almost as though he didn’t want to be visible at all. Dean hummed and hawed about how awesome this invisibility thing was and how he had great plans to rob the bank just up the street the following day. Predictably Sam had immediately placed him back under motel-arrest and appointed Castiel his jailer. Dean rocked back onto his chair and cracked open a beer. Too late did Sam and Castiel both realise that maybe this was something Dean had been aiming for all along.

- - -

The sixth day dawned grey and miserable and Dean took a moment to stretch his body luxuriously upon his bed, a smile firmly plastered upon his lips as he heard the wind and rain fighting against the windows of their motel room.

“Such a shame I’m unable to join you today, Sammy,” Dean said as he watched Sam puttering about their room, getting his stuff together.

Sam shot him a scowl, both of them knowing that even if he demanded Dean’s presence today, the rain alone would have prevented him from stepping foot outside the car.

“You know this whole thing might’ve been fixed by now if you’d, you know, actually bothered to help me figure this out?” Sam sniped at him.

“It’s not like I’m being deliberately unhelpful-,” Dean started. Sam glared. Dean sniggered, “Okay, maybe I’m being less helpful that I could be, but this whole invisibility thing is really kind of cool.”

“Yeah?” Sam asked in a voice that clearly meant he wasn’t asking a question. “And will it be cool when we have to go on our next hunt? When you can’t talk to anyone? Can’t go into public places to eat or drink or even, hell forbid, you tried to pick up someone, will it be ‘kind of cool’ then too?”

“Yeah, yeah, no need to get your panties in a twist, Sammy.” Dean grouched, sitting himself up and swinging his legs out of the bed. “Where are you heading today?” he hazarded after a full minute of silence punctuated only by Sam’s stomping around the room.

“I’m going to go and find another voodoo queen or priestess or whatever and see if I can’t get you a cure.” Sam answered after a moment.

“A witch is a witch is a witch.” Dean grumped just as Castiel appeared in their room. “I don’t care what they practice they’re all witches and I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it,” Sam said, flashing Castiel a half-smile in greeting, “but it might’ve helped if you didn’t believe in it.”

“What?” Dean frowned, pushing himself to his feet and moving towards the small kitchenette with its kettle and complimentary coffee sachets.

“Voodoo,” Sam clarified, “if you didn’t believe in it then maybe you wouldn’t have been affected by it.”

“Sammy, I think you’ve been watching too many movies. You don’t have to believe in these things to have them work on you.” Dean laughed, pouring coffee and sugar into a mug as he waited for the kettle to boil. “Cas you want anything?”

Castiel shook his head, “No, thank you.”

“Voodoo is all about the power of belief from what I know about it.” Sam pressed on.

“Well, whatever, either way I don’t see how believing or not believing is going to get me my skin back.”

“You could always believe it back,” Castiel quipped, his voice dry but his lips twitching with amusement. Sam sniggered, snatching up his bag and the keys to the Impala.

Dean shot Castiel a hard stare. “I know you can’t see me, but right now?” he said, watching as Castiel turned to look in his direction, “Right now I’m wearing my unimpressed face.”

- - -

“Looks like I’ve got you all to myself,” Dean purred the moment Sam left the motel room. He forwent his coffee in preference of stalking Castiel who was standing stiffly now in the middle of the room, his eyes flickering around the space where Dean’s voice had come from.

He moved in closer, lifting a hand to touch at Castiel’s arm only to have the angel jerk back from him, startled.

“I would prefer if you did not do that,” Castiel said, turning his eyes away from where Dean was, as if deliberately trying not to look at (for) him.

“Cas?” Dean reached out again only to have to pull his hand back as Castiel tensed up, flinching back from the touch.

“I do not like…” Castiel started and then stopped. “I can’t see you, Dean. It disturbs me to feel you touching me.”

“I hope that was a related statement,” Dean muttered wryly. Castiel frowned and Dean waved the comment away before realising Castiel couldn’t see the gesture and muttering a ‘never mind’ instead.

“You’re suggesting we have sex all day?” Castiel asked in that dry voice he’d seemed to perfect over the course of knowing Dean.

Dean huffed a little. “No need to sound so excited about it.”

Castiel half-smiled but continued to look away from the direction of his voice. “Usually the prospect would excite me, as you say.”

“But not now?” Dean prompted.

“Not when I cannot see you,” Castiel agreed. Dean pouted, the expression deepening when he realised how ineffective the gesture would be in persuading Castiel.

He reached out and touched Castiel’s arm once more, his fingers holding on despite the flinch. Castiel turned his head to stare unseeingly in his direction.

“I asked you not to touch me, Dean.”

“Come on, Cas,” Dean pleaded. “It’ll be fun!”

Castiel tugged his arm free. “I have no objection to watching you from afar for the duration of this day if you persist.”

“C’mon, you don’t mean-,” Dean started, reaching out again. Before his fingers could snatch hold of Castiel’s coat again, however, the angel disappeared.

“Cas!” Dean shouted into the empty room, “Don’t be like that! Please?” He bit his lip waiting for Castiel to reappear but the angel remained stubborn and stayed away.

Dean cursed himself for his pushing and returned to the kitchenette and his coffee. Sam’s words about never getting laid again flashed through his mind and he silently balked at the thought. Surely, if he remained this way, Castiel wouldn’t keep away from him, would he? He wondered if all those little gropes and pinches he’d been giving him throughout the week had anything to do with the angel’s jumpiness. He could have enjoyed the blushing and jumping far less than he did, he supposed. But he’d thought Castiel’s reactions more than a little adorable at the time.

He’d finished his first cup of coffee, showered and shaved (the latter proving to be far more trouble than it was worth) and was just about to start on his second cup of coffee en lue of there being anything worth eating in the fridge when Castiel reappeared.

“Look, I’m sorry if I-” Dean began but Castiel raised a hand to forestall his words.

“As an angel, I am not used to being touched in the same manner in which you touch me, Dean,” Castiel began, “I have learned to enjoy it as much as you do, but I find it difficult to enjoy a touch I do not expect.”

Dean leaned up against the counter, “Sometimes unexpected touches can be even better than the ones you can see coming.”

Castiel cocked his head towards him. “I have trusted you in your knowledge of these things many a time,” he said and Dean licked his lips against a grin of remembrance of the many a time.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Cas,” Dean said, assuring him. “I know I’ve been a bit of a jackass this week, it wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable, you know that, right?”

“I know that,” Castiel agreed. His eyes flickered over the space where Dean’s voice was coming from. He hesitated a moment longer before, looking up and almost directly into Dean’s eyes as he asked, “Do you think you can make me feel comfortable with this?”

- - -

Comfortable turned out to be Castiel’s own tie wrapped around his eyes; his body stripped of clothing and laid down upon Dean’s bed. Comfortable was the sound of Dean’s voice telling him to relax, telling him where his lips were going to kiss and where his hands would next press and stroke and rub. Comfortable was Dean’s voice turning to a whisper that grew softer and softer till there came only breathless moans and the sounds of his mouth moving against Castiel’s flesh, sounds that were swiftly drowned out by Castiel’s own moans and whimpers and his breathless pleas to be touched here and there and again and again.

Comfortable was Castiel writhing beneath him, heedless of his earlier hesitance, his body arching into every expected and unexpected touch Dean lay upon him. And once they’d spent themselves, sweaty and sticky, upon the bed, Dean lead Castiel- pliant and yielding- into the shower cubical to clean them both up.

Their lips met beneath the spray as Dean’s hands moved over his body, washing and touching, content in the knowledge that with Castiel still wearing his tie as an impromptu blindfold the angel felt safe and protected in his hands.

It wasn’t until they stepped out of the shower, Dean helping Castiel to towel himself dry that Dean suddenly reached up to touch at the blindfold. Castiel’s fingers were quick to cover his own, his lips muttering Dean’s name like a question.

“Trust me,” Dean said, moving his fingers from Castiel’s and moving towards the knot. He carefully untied Castiel’s tie and unwound the blue material from his eyes.

“You can open your eyes,” Dean prompted, amused, as Castiel’s eyes remained closed even after the sound of Dean dropping his tie to the bathroom floor.

“I can see you better like this,” Castiel answered, honestly, and Dean laughed.

“Trust me, you’ll see me even better with them open,” He grinned, watching as Castiel- in a very human gesture- peeked first one eye open and then the other, taking in the fact that he could (at least partially) see Dean again.

“You’re turning back,” Castiel said, frowning as he moved his hands over Dean’s shoulders. He rubbed first at the flesh-coloured tone of his skin before touching hesitantly at a still-invisible patch, as me moved his fingers away however it appeared as if he’d rubbed the colour back into Dean’s skin.

Dean was grinning at him when he looked up and met his eyes once more.

“Sammy must’ve found a cure,” he said, “it was the same when I went invisible; it was like washing away my skin.”

Castiel lifted the towel from Dean’s hand and swiped it along his collarbone. “And touching you now will bring it back,” he surmised, smiling his half-smile.

“Looks like,” Dean grinned.

“Then we should make certain that every inch of you is touched before your brother returns, to ensure that all his hard work in finding a cure for you has not been for nothing.” Castiel dropped the towel, his fingers moving to touch directly at Dean’s body once more. Dean’s only reply to that was a breathless moan as Castiel’s fingers found their way below waist level.

heh. yeah. thanks, babe. :) ...I just don't think I can do "forced" humour and some parts of it kind of felt like that. Thankfully everyone else seems to agree with you so I do feel a whole load better about it, haha.

Hahahaha that was incredibly amusing! I found myself chuckling, giggling, and outright howling at this! So much fun beginning, middle, and end =D You wrote all of them so well and such imagination with Dean's pranks! Very nice!